The Sceptre and the Isle
by kinneas
Summary: M!Hawke/Anders. A series of Dragon Age drabbles set in the Mass Effect universe. Will update with a conclusion after Mass Effect 3.
1. Trident

**Trident.**

"You know, I've never actually been to an ocean before," Anders says.

Hawke looks up from the set of armor in his lap, Corsair logo stubbornly only half scrubbed off. Anders' hair is loose, ruffling in the sea breeze, and he's curling his bare toes in the sand as the surf washes over them.

"That's kind of ironic, isn't it?" Hawke says, squinting up at him.

"Hm?"

"_Ocean planet_."

"Oh." Anders doesn't look away from the horizon, but Hawke can see the small smile on his face, such a nice departure from the scowls and biotic fury that have to have him halfway to wrinkles by now. Everything around them feels _alive_, the noise and color of life rippling through the air and the water, like the ocean is excited just to be here. Even Anders' headaches are gone, at least so far.

"It's like a private oasis," Anders murmurs. "_Our_ oasis." Finally he rips his gaze from the ocean and looks over at Hawke. The bright white sun frames him like a golden halo, and a drop of sweat beads down his shirt.

"I know we can't stay long - "

"Nonsense," Hawke says, shoving the armor off his lap and ignoring the creak in his knee as he stands. Damn, but he'll miss the lattice shunt upgrades.

That's about all he'll miss.

He pads next to Anders and slips an arm around his waist, then tucks his head against Anders' warm shoulder.

"We clear the pirate bodies out of the lodge, disable the radios, lift some Advil out of the pharmacies, it'll be at _least_ an extended vacation."

Anders makes a face, but it slips into a laugh. "With all this humidity, they're probably starting to bloat, aren't they?"

Hawke kisses his neck. "It'll be absolutely _disgusting_."

* * *

><p><em>originally written for fluff friday but mostly bc i love both these series; these are super fun and i'll be doing more before me3's release. aspirin is eternal and let's pretend hawke says maker because he's not abrahamic religion. expect several.<em>


	2. Zanethu

**Zanethu.**

Bloody Batarians.

This was why Hawke hated leaving Alliance space. You couldn't go _two steps_ without taking a knife or superheated bullet-like projectile to the back.

"Sorry, humans," his radio blares, "Got a better offer somewhere else." Hawke can practically hear the sneer on Silak's floppy lips.

The roar of the ship taking off outside is muffled by airlock behind them.

"Take that as a lesson, if you get a 'next time'. Tell your Alliance friends to pay more."

Aveline slams her riot shield into the wall. "_Bastards_."

"Could be worse," Hawke says, then looks around at the desolate drop facility, full of crazed L2s and Maker only knew how many kidnapped or dead soldiers. "Could be _better_."

"What now?" she asks, as if Hawke has any idea, but before he can even pretend, the door slides open with at least five guns trained on him, and the one unarmed man the middle glowing bright biotic blue.

"_I have made this place a sanctuary!_" he bellows. "_Why are you threatening it?_"

"Who said anything about threatening?" Hawke throws his most winning grin at the man and lets his SMG dangle casually from his fingertips. "I'm just here for the company."

* * *

><p>"You don't understand," the leader from before, <em>Anders<em>, says. "You don't know what it's like for us." He clasps his hands under his chin, and Hawke figures those worry lines on his cute face are probably permanent. Aveline's off with the second-in-command, negotiating use of the interstellar radio.

Hawke crosses his arms, armor clacking. "And that justifies stealing Alliance recruits?"

"We didn't steal anyone!" For a moment Hawke's afraid Anders will turn that dreadful shade of blue again - it clashed horribly with his pink-and-white armor - but he stares Hawke down with the kind of pout that would topple planets. "They defected," he explains. "They're tired of being treated like second-class citizens, forced to fight and kill because no one but the military will hire them."

Hawke eyes him. "You _do_ know it's not helping their case to be defectors instead of kidnap victims."

Anders huffs and rakes stray blond hairs from his eyes. He's obviously not been military for a long time. "They didn't want to join anyway," he says. "People think we're bloody mind-readers, so they ostracize us. We have nowhere else to go, what's wrong with making our own place in the galaxy?"

The sincerity in his eyes at least is hard to argue.


	3. Imorkan

**Imorkan.**

"First Lieutenant Hawke," Hawke says, twirling his pistol as they walk as through the fueling dome. "By the vested interest of the Systems Alliance, I am hereby charged with dereliction of duty. I am ordered to report to Alliance Headquarters for immediate court-martial."

"It's not _funny_," Aveline insists. "It's probably going to happen, and it'll probably be me who has to keelhaul you back to Earth." The artificial sky of the dome flickers and hangs, like everything else in this stupid solar system, alternating between noon-day sun and the empty black of space. A tarted up batarian and asari work the wall next to an ammunition machine, chain-smoking.

Even in the haze of filth, Anders looks like he's going to burst with excitement, a pressure cooker of giddiness just so poorly masked by the worst poker face Hawke's ever seen. "I think it's hilarious," he says with a smile, absently working dust from a finger joint piece. "Besides, they never came for _me_ when I left."

"_You_were only an ensign," Aveline says. "They probably didn't care."

"Oh, I'm so much more than an ensign." Anders shoots her a surprisingly lascivious grin, even _winks_, and something inside Hawke shivers, but he keeps it down, because at least one of them has to be able to bluff.

The intercom interrupts that chain of thought; it's the bored turian employee. "_Mister... Amell, MSV Kentucky. Your ship is fueled and we're awaiting payment._"

"That's us, then," Hawke says, and before he can say another word, Aveline grasps his arm.

"You're absolutely sure about this." It's a statement, not a question, and that's when Hawke realizes how much he'll miss her. "You've only known him a few weeks."

Hawke shrugs. "It's not about that. It's about something more than red tape and shooting people in the head."

"You're an idiot," she says quietly, somberly, "but you've been good to me. Take care of yourself, Garrett Hawke."

The red of her hair and his own armor glints in the on-and-off sun. Anders is doing his best to look like he's ignoring them, tapping his fingers on his thigh and pretending to study the other docked ships. Hawke grins. "Lieutenant Vallen."

In the operating station a hundred meters away, someone screams - the turian, just before dark blue blood splatters the glass.

Hawke grabs Aveline and Anders and drops to the floor, pistol ready, as the station erupts in chaos.

The intercom crackles back to life: "_- stupid thing's on... Customers, please make all payments to Gruchenk Fuel, LLC._"


	4. Omega

**Omega.**

"I've never actually been to Omega before," Anders says, looking around, eyes lingering on the drunk passed out, _hopefully_ passed out, against the wall. "It's... loud."

It is definitely that. Music from the nearby clubs thunders through walls lined with flickering ads, and smoke chokes the air from where the ventilation's either dead or dying. Hawke keeps moving, because that's the game.

"It's worse than I imagined it," he continues, mostly to himself. "Everyone has a price here."

Aveline's mouth tightens, but Hawke just glances at him. "Apparently yours is twenty-thousand credits."

"It's not for _me_," Anders says. "If I could keep everything running free, I would. We had a settlement on Eden Prime for a while, we ran on donations, but the Alliance..."

Lucky for Anders, then, with that geth attack a year back. "Why not just go somewhere habitable?" Hawke asks. "Has to be better than your current digs."

"Then we'd still need funds to move everyone." Anders stops and fixes him with what could be a glare if it tried harder, but really it just sinks back into that indomitable pout. "You promised you'd help." He winces suddenly, then gasps and grabs at his temples. He stumbles forward and Aveline only barely catches him.

"Anders!" Hawke shouts, and that only makes him wince again as Aveline rights him against the wall. He holds up a hand pleadingly, eyes squinted shut.

"Hawke..." Aveline says. Hawke shakes his head, because he knows exactly what she's about to suggest, and no words in all the galaxial languages can express how wrong that makes him feel. "He's too weak to fight back," she argues. "We can book passage on a ship without all this errand running."

"And what, we just leave him here? On _Omega_."

"We take him into custody. He's obviously ex-Alliance, and he's a terrorist."

"And all those people back on Zanethu just rot, then." He walks past her, patting her on the shoulder before helping Anders off the wall. "I'll let _you_ be the one to pass on the good news. My command, my rules."

She rolls her eyes, but brooks no protest, thank the Maker for small favors. "Think with your _brain_, Hawke."

"_Aveline_," he says with his best Sunday grin, acutely aware of Anders' weight against him, "what else could I _possibly_ be thinking with?"

"Hawke," Anders murmurs, then gestures with the tilt of his head toward a man and his batarian friend sauntering toward them - maybe Blue Suns by the look of them, or maybe just thugs playing at it.

Hawke's hand is on his pistol before they take another step. "The welcoming committee's here!" he calls over the mechanical whir of Aveline's unholstering shotgun. "You shouldn't have; it's not even my birthday."

The batarian peers at him but doesn't miss a beat. "Three well-armored, out-of-place humans. We gotta think you're looking for trouble."

"Three's a bit generous isn't it?" Hawke claps an arm around Anders' shoulder. "Our friend here's basically a glorified tin can. You can practically see the bits of string."

"Your _friend_ doesn't look so good," the batarian says, and it sounds nothing like concern. A few bystanders have stopped to stare.

Aveline steps between them. "We don't want any trouble, but we're not afraid to give it."

"Honey," the human says, and Hawke internally grimaces, "that's just too fuckin' bad."

Anders stands to his full height, and the air suddenly feels like it's been sucked out of the room as that blue glow envelops him, leaking from his eyes and fists. The odds must not look as good as they had a moment ago, because the human sets his jaw and the batarian does whatever irritated batarians do, tilts his head to the right or something, and slinks away.

Anders slumps immediately.

"They'll be back," Aveline sighs, "or someone will replace them. Our chances are better if we get inside a club."

* * *

><p>The club's not much better. The bouncers may have thrown the first set to bother them out, but the flashing red lights and shove of bodies watching the asari flesh show probably aren't an improvement over drunks in an alleyway.<p>

"I'm gonna get him somewhere safe!" Hawke yells over the deafening music. "Try to find the contact he mentioned. Keep your pockets tight!" Aveline nods, winces at a screeching bit of treble, and pushes away through the crowd.

Hawke scans the club, finds what he's looking for just past the bar. "Look _drunk_," Hawke whispers, and Anders doesn't move, still leaning heavily on Hawke, face scrunched in pain as he shields his eyes and plugs an ear. "Good."

They cross quickly to where a turian in a club uniform is standing by a hallway.

"What's the quietest, darkest spot you have?" Hawke asks him, sliding his hand down and around Anders' armored waist. "My friend and I are gonna have some _fun_."

The turian nods to a set of rooms down a hall just to their right. "It's pay by the minute. Try to keep it clean, you humans make a mess."

The room _is_ dark, at least, and when the door slides shut behind them and Anders collapses onto a chair that's suspiciously large, the music softens to a muffled bass. Hawke follows suit, oozing onto a cheap couch, letting the sudden quiet and the relative safety wash over him.

They just breathe.

"You know that's probably not been washed in ages," Anders says eventually, voice soft and shaky but still startling as he breaks the silence.

Hawke shrugs. "I can always wash my hair."

Anders chuckles. "That's disgusting - were you raised by wolves?"

"Mars, actually. The accent and all." Hawke crosses his legs and makes no move to be less gross. "I get called _bumpkin_ a lot."

They're both quiet for another moment, and finally Anders uncurls from his pained little ball.

"When I was a child, we lived in Singapore," he says quietly, "but my parents moved to Old England after the second eezo exposure. I don't really remember my first home." The noise out of his mouth is like ugly derision. "_Or_ my second. I was sixteen when they dragged me away to BAaT training and stuck this L2 in my head."

Hawke figures he should probably be tired of this by now, Aveline definitely is, but...

"These migraines," he asks, "Medi-gel doesn't help?"

"No. Caffeine does. The implant affects the pain neurons in the trigeminal nucleus, among other things, and there's not much that medi-gel anesthetics can do."

Anders may not have seen the look on his face, but he hears the questioning silence in the air.

"I'm a doctor," he explains, then scowls beneath his hands. "Well, _almost_. The hospital wouldn't hire an L2 for residency. I joined the Alliance and tried to work as a field medic, but they wanted my bloody biotics more than my medicine." His voice is angry, full of vengeance, but at least the pain is probably fading. "It was the same for everyone else, no matter the implant. Go military or go hungry."

"Are you to get my sympathy so we don't drag you back to Earth?"

Anders pauses then smiles, coy as anything but with the hint of sadness that seems like it's always on his face, and he cracks open his brown eyes just enough to peer up at Hawke. "Is it working?"

Hawke considers him, his fury and his kindness and his eyes, and says, "Wasn't necessary." Then he laughs - mindful to keep it low and rumbling. "Don't flatter yourself, it's not all about you." Hawke pushes himself off the disgusting sofa, boots scraping on the ground. "My sister's an L3. I don't want her to join the military, it's too dangerous, but I'm not sure what choice she has."

Anders meets his eyes.

"That's what we're trying to change."

Hawke's radio buzzes.

"A man named Varric, right?" Aveline says. "I found him on level four, he's got work for us."


	5. Erinle

**Erinle.**

The door of the double room they'd rented slides open, and Anders looks troubled.

"Shepard died," he says.

Disbelief hits first. "_Citadel_ Shepard?"

Anders nods, spaced out, deep in thought. "Geth attack. I just heard it on the news." He sits down on the bed, Hawke's bed, and they're both silent for a moment.

Hawke snorts. "Fight enough of the buggers, it's bound to happen sooner or later."

Anders crosses his arms, the feathery fabric of his jacket stretching over his shoulders as he broods. "I wonder," he says, his voice carrying only as far as Hawke's ears.

"What?"

"You were Alliance, too. You know how their bureaucracy worked." His eyes have that dangerous bent to them, one part paranoid and two parts something Hawke's been struggling against off his life. "Shepard said a lot of things after the Citadel," Anders continues, "and being a _biotic_..."

Hawke just looks at him. "You think she went crazy."

"I don't know."

"_You're_ crazy," Hawke says, and Anders' nasty sort of smirk that Hawke's starting to realize he's prone to fades into a laugh that's just happy to be here.

"You knew what you were getting into," he says.

The view outside the window is base, just a technical mishmash of salarian facilities, a biodome out in the distance, too far to admire the trees. The bright white of Osun is mercifully setting, but there's not enough pollution here to make it pretty.

There's nothing to distract him from the crinkles at Anders' face as he relaxes and makes no move to leave.

He should just do it. He's not really sure why he hasn't, except that for all its nobility, scouting in close quarters after a big fat rejection and an even fatter dereliction of his career is possibly the _worst_ way to spend his best years, and all his bravado feel like it's taken off in a mean sprint.

Instead, he smiles. A real one. "I did," he says.

Something in Anders' face changes, like he's fighting his own battles and someone just _won_, which Hawke only realizes is true as Anders scoots closer, slips a hand into his hair, and kisses him.

It's yearning, experienced but out-of-practice, and rough and stubbly in the cracks where Hawke's beard doesn't protect him.

* * *

><p>"You knew I'd do that," Anders murmurs, and Hawke pauses where he's nipping at his neck.<p>

"Am I really that obvious?"

Anders skims his hands over Hawke's skin, his arms around his waist and up his shirt. "You _do _know you're abandoning your job to help me relocate seventy people."

Hawke laughs against Anders' throat. "I _have_ been laying it on pretty thick."

Maker, he _knew_ double beds were a waste of money.


	6. Watson, Part 1

**Watson, Part 1.**

It wasn't easy living, literally backbreaking that one fun time, poor Emile, but it was a hell of a lot better than a desolate space rock.

Sunlight and plants always _did_ tend to help, even if that sun got too red in the day.

Hawke's arms burn under the weight of the provisions, and even his legs are starting to feel the walk. Getting Grace and Innley hired at the Germantown grocer at least made that errand go faster, but he's losing energy fast.

Still, this whole thing was working, _amazingly_, and Hawke couldn't complain. Joe, on the other hand, is plenty proficient at it.

"I just don't understand why we can't stagger these trips," he says, in the single-most nasally voice Hawke has ever had the pleasure of being forced to listen to. For hours. And hours. Jokes don't work, and he's tried blocking it out, but it's like a little fly buzzing around in his head.

"Because people a lot smarter than you say we can't," he says.

"But it just doesn't make any sense!" Joe whines. "Wouldn't it be smarter to just go to a different store every day or two instead of hitting all the stores up at once. We have to look suspicious with all these bags, and I'm _tired_ - "

"Maker, _shut it_."

Joe frowns, then looks over at him. "Why do you always say that?" he asks. "What religion are you, anyway?"

"All of them," Hawke says, and they're blessedly coming up on the main safehouse. Joe has the decency to quit talking as he inputs a code, and the gate slides open.

"Hawke, watch it!" he yells.

One of the bags slips from Hawke's arms, and a week's worth of produce nearly spills onto rocky ground before the bright purple of a mass effect field suddenly grabs them in the air - it's Anders, descending the steps of the house, glowing as he levitates the food until he can pull it to safety.

Joe moves on ahead of them as Anders brushes sweaty hair from his eyes - it's gotten shaggy again, the way Hawke liked to wear it before the military - and smiles as he takes another bag from Hawke's arms.

"He had you carry the bulk again?" Anders asks as they climb the stairs together. The air inside isn't much cooler, but at least it's dry.

The long table clangs as Hawke dumps his provision bags onto it. "I don't mind. How else will I keep my alluring physique?" He shrugs off his jacket, or tries to, but he ends up peeling it off _so flatteringly _instead. Joe's wandered off somewhere, so Hawke collapses onto a bench and lets his arms and face splay on the table, reveling in the cool metal on his sweaty skin.

Anders sits down next to him, but not so close as to be too hot.

"How'd the therapies go?" Hawke mumbles into the table.

"Keili's not doing well," Anders says. "The delusions aren't getting any better. I'm going to talk to her family next week about taking donations for the L3 retrofit." He shakes his head sadly. "Every day with her reminds me that I'm one of the lucky ones, and then I get angry at myself because it shouldn't be this way at all."

There's a rant coming, maybe one strong enough to ruin both their moods all day, and when the days are thirty-seven hours, being dour for every one of them begins to lose its luster.

"Think of it this way," Hawke says, sitting up and leaning against Anders. "If everything was different, you would never have met _Joe_."

Anders laughs and slides his hand over his back, not even cringing away from Hawke's warm, sweaty shirt. "We'd all be poorer for that," he says softly.

Footsteps echo down the hall, and they separate as a ruddy-faced new recruit rounds the corner.

"Sir," he says to Anders, then nods at Hawke. "Lieutenant." He's rigid and awkward, still stuck in those last vestiges of _attention_.

"Kerr, you don't have to salute," Anders says. "That's sort of the point."

"...Um, thank you, sir," he says, probably for the tenth time since he'd arrived. "There's been a problem."

Anders rises, Hawke behind him, and Kerr's omni-tool glows as he reads the report. "I already told the others. That new biotic, Feyne, the one with the instability. He and his mother were on a transport, but they've lost contact with the ship."


	7. Hekate

**Hekate.**

"I don't understand either of you," Isabela says, her booted feet kicked back on the cockpit console the second she put the ship on autopilot. "Do you know how hard it is to find good real estate on Trident?"

Hawke gazes out the window at the blue streak of FTL and the stars just past it. "Apparently not as hard as you think," he says. "Crash a merchant ship into the ocean, kill a few pirates - _no offense_ - and you've got yourself beachfront property."

"So you're giving up rent control and great beach sex - " she pauses. "It _is_ great, right? The new-boyfriend excitement hasn't worn off?" She eyes Hawke carefully, the lip ring glinting from the LED. "That _would _be a shame."

Hawke falters, torn between natural shamelessness and the fact that sometimes a man just needs his _privacy_, and Anders coughs delicately.

"You can only squat for so long before someone decides they want their house back," he says.

"Ship captains, too," she parries. "You're damn lucky I didn't space you two the second I caught you." Above her smirk her eyes are hard for a moment, the same captain they saw blast through the engineering door with two pistols blazing, but then she chuckles, deep and sultry. "The _least_ you could do is give me some details."

Hawke's not convinced.

Isabela shrugs, and the black lace of her bra spills over her shirt. "You're no fun at all. And I still don't understand."

Anders smiles wistfully from where he's got his arms around his knees on the cabin floor, his mind literally a million miles away. "There are more important things than a honeymoon."

Hawke reaches down to slip his hand over Anders' shoulder and into his hair, but suddenly the scream of klaxon floods the room and echoes through the ship in time with angry warning lights.

Isabela whips back into business. "_Balls_, she spits as she reads the monitors, "I've got Geth signatures."

Anders starts out of his daze and off the floor. "_What?_"

"We're sailing in their space, kitten," she says as her fingers fly over the console, issuing commands and hopefully getting them the hell out of here. "I was hoping we'd miss them again, but no luck." She mashes the intercom. "_Merrill, prep the Thanix! I'm not taking any chances._"

Hawke draws a breath and slips that arm around Anders anyway, maybe tighter than he means to. He's heard stories, and he's not about to become one of them.

"Well," he breathes, "at least it's not boring." Anders snorts, sort of a scared snort, but he understands.

Something flashes on a screen, and Isabela grits her teeth and grins an ugly grin. "The relay's aligned - I think I can make it before they catch up."

Anders peers out the window, as if he could see them in the vastness of space, not that the blaring sound and lights don't make it terrifying on their own. "And if we don't?" he asks.

The excitement on Isabela's lips finally reaches her eyes.

* * *

><p><em>ahhhh late post on the other one.<em>

_so i was missing the whole first section on zanethu, whoops, and i went through and edited typos, formatted, fixed general shitty writing area__s. should be good now._


	8. Partholon

**Partholon.**

Hawke never thought he'd be _happy_ to be back in the Terminus; say what you would about them, but at least when the Blue Suns hijacked a freighter they had the decency to board and let you shoot them in the head.

Geth just lurk, and then you die.

Isabela takes another swig from her bottle. Rum, it smells like, the real stuff from what's left of the Caribbean. "That was fun," she says, "but let's not do it again."

Anders is still gazing out the window at the brand new set of stars. "Why don't they follow us?" he asks.

"_I_ don't know." As she types commands into the console, she expertly balances the open bottle between her bare legs. "And as long as they stay on their side of the Veil, I don't _care_."

She glances back at them both, eyeing up Hawke. "So, do you want to help me unwind or go make yourselves useful somewhere else on my ship?"

As much as Hawke is curious what 'unwinding' entails, and as much as he's already sure he has an idea, Anders is already stalking out of the cockpit chamber.

The rest of the ship is used, sparsely crewed, with low industrial lights and nothing but tight walls of gray and monitor panels before everything gives way to empty space. Already he can hardly remember the smell and feel of the ocean spray, but the vibrant gold of Anders' hair is like the horizon in the evening.

The small mess hall is empty - no peering, heavily-shadowed eyes - so Hawke just sits on the table itself. Anders pulls off one of his armored gloves and tosses it next to him before dropping into a chair. It's petty, and it makes him look lighter than he is.

"Fine company we've managed to pick up," Anders grouses as he tugs at the other glove.

"I don't know," Hawke says, leaning back on his arms and gazing down at him. "_I _like her."

Anders huffs out a grouchy breath. "Of course _you_ would," he says. "I'm right here, you know." Hawke just nudges his shoulder with his knee and laughs.

The door slides open, and the most curiously-dressed asari Hawke's ever seen walks in. She's covered in beads and scarves and worn leather, her fringe unkempt but not unclean, more like a romantic human than elegant asari.

"Oh!" she exclaims when she notices them. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was in here!" She clasps her hands together in obvious excitement. "You're the stowaways, aren't you? I'm Merrill, the First. Mate, I mean- " she fumbles, "not that we're _mates_, not like a joining, not _really_- "

"I'm Hawke," Hawke simply says, because it's been at least a year since he forgot himself and used his rank, and Merrill's too nervous for much else anyway.

"Oh, I know," Merrill says brightly. "Isabela told me." She smiles, as big and honest as her eyes. "She's more excited for new company than she lets on. Especially if you're helping with the raid tomorrow."

"Raid?" Hawke asks.

Merrill covers her mouth. "I probably shouldn't say anything more about it. Isabela can tell you everything."

He can't bring himself to interrogate her, not least because getting spaced's not on his agenda today or really any other day, but also because Merrill's just too bloody likable.

"I don't see asari under human command often, "Anders says, fortunately going with the subject change.

The smile on Merrill's face wilts, only just enough for Hawke to know it was never fully there. "My people didn't understand," she says. "And they don't look kindly on a pureblood barely in her eighties trying to _make_ them understand."

Anders looks like he wants to ask, but Hawke puts a hand on his shoulder and neither of them presses it. "How'd you manage to wind up here?" Hawke asks instead. "Did you stow away in the shipping crates or the escape pods?"

Merrill giggles. "Nothing like that! I left Thessia, and I met Isabela on Illium when I got in a bit of trouble." She stands and looks around at the sparse mess hall as if it were the homiest place in the galaxy. "She's very kind and giving, you know."

Anders snorts. "Oh, I'm sure she's got a _lot_to give."

"_Anders_."

Merrill blinks between them. "Did I miss something?"

The ship comm interrupts them. "_Kitten, I need you in the cockpit_," Isabela says, and she snickers before continuing. "_Hawke and Anders, tomorrow we hit up Caleston for their eezo, and you two earn your oxygen._"

The comm buzzes out for a moment, but then Isabela speaks again: "Try_ to get some sleep_."

Merrill bounds to the door. "You know where the crew bunks are," she says. "See you in the morning!" Then she's gone, and everything's silent again, save for the calming hum of the ship.

Hawke lets out a breath. "At least we'll be back on Watson soon, if they haven't all killed each other yet."

"Mm," Anders says absently, but for the first time in a month his eyes aren't far enough away to be thinking about the colony.

Hawke pushes himself off the table to sit down next to Anders. "If I didn't know any better," he says, "I'd say you were jealous."

"And they call me a mind-reader."

"One of my many gifts," Hawke grins with a little too much teeth, then presses his fingers clumsily against Anders' brow. "Let me try again: 'Garrett looks very sexy right now in his smelly armor. I can't wait to get it off and breathe its diverse array of odors'."

Anders can't keep the fondness or that little half-smile off his face "Your jokes are terrible," he says as he takes Hawke's hand at his face, guiding it over his stubble as he laces their fingers together.

"You just don't know good comedy when you see it," Hawke says, and when Anders kisses him, chaste at first like he tries to play at but secretly wanting and exploring and probably about to bend him over a table, Hawke decides he doesn't need to remember the sea breeze.

The comm buzzes again. "_Anders, now you tell him how pretty his eyes are_," Isabela says, and there's a telltale giggle in the background.


	9. Aegis

**Aegis.**

"I _do_ like to talk," Hawke says, hands empty at his side as Anders and their backup skid to a halt behind him. "So let's talk about this."

"I don't know what we have to talk about," the man across port says, his gun still trained on the shaking boy's head. A few of his ugly friends are helping out. "You get off my ship, and maybe you live."

Hawke's been smirking since the moment he walked through the door, and he brushes hair from his eyes with an easy swipe. "_Surely_ you can be more imaginative than that," he says. "And you've got no sense of continuity, man! If we're off the ship, seems like we're living just fine."

The man falters, because an Alliance spec ops uniform and an actual sense of humor apparently wasn't what he expected.

Hawke grabs the chance. "Where's the mother?"

"In the hold with the rest," the slaver says, the he catches himself. "She's not hurt, _yet_." He presses the gun into the boy - Feyne's - temple, and he whimpers.

"So tell me, what's the going price on Trident for a half-starved colony boy?"

Hawke can see his sneer from across the room. "_Biotic_ colony boy. Fresh implants," he slimes. "It's enough."

Hawke cracks his neck once, twice. "So enough that you know I won't believe you'll kill him," he says. Anders and Niall suddenly glow with biotics, and in the split second it takes for the slavers to turn and look, Hawke quickdraws his pistol and shoots the main one through his throat.

Anders throws a barrier around the boy as Hawke drags him down into cover behind some cargo crates, and the smell of ozone erupts into the air.

"Feyne!" Hawke yells, "get over here before that barrier falls!"

It's been a while since they've danced, but the obviously lethal but completely nonthreatening _pew-pew-pew_ of gunfire makes him feel like he's right back at home. The shots stop for just a second, and when Anders hurls a singularity it's pure muscle memory to roll out and fire at the men dangling helplessly in the air.

Feyne's staggering across the floor, barrier still strong, favoring one leg but making progress.

Hawke ducks back down to load a thermal clip and grins over at Anders, who looks almost as exhilarated as Hawke feels. "When we get back to Watson," Anders whispers, waiting for his next opening, "you'd better make sure you don't have night watch for a _week_." The shots cease again, and Anders hurls a blast through the air.

Kerr takes another down, and Hawke's lining up the shot on that bastard with the rifle keeping them pinned down, waiting for when he dares to pop his little head back out -

"Lieutenant, on your six!"

Hawke whips around just in time to see the flanking slaver's gun before his chest and leg explode in pain. He smashes back against the crate, vision swimming but not enough to keep him from shooting back. The slaver goes down.

"_Shit_," Hawke gasps, and Anders is suddenly above him, must have crawled over, inspecting the burns on his armor.

"_Shit_," Anders echoes, that face gone from dirty promises to so much concern. "Hold on, love," he breathes. Hawke nods, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists before the orange glow of Anders' omni-tool overcomes him and the screaming pain fades to a moderate ache.

The fight's died down, and Niall is tending to the shaking Feyne while Kerr scouts the room and loots the bodies. Operating was expensive, and dead slavers wouldn't miss it and didn't deserve it.

Everything around them suddenly hums as the ship's engine jumps to life.

"They're moving - we're still docked, and they're _moving_." Niall's normally calm voice flits with urgency. "We have to get back to our ship before they tear it apart."

Anders looks back at Hawke. "What about the boy's mother? There might be other prisoners on this ship. We aren't going to just leave them here?"

"No, please!" Feyne pleads, finally shaking out of his shock. "You can't leave her with them!"

Garrett hauls himself up and scavenges the pistol that shot him. "Take him," he says to the other two. "Get back to the ship. We'll try to take down anyone else and get the survivors to pods."

Kerr looks skeptical, but Niall nods. "There weren't that many energy signatures on the scan. If some of them are prisoners, there's only a couple slavers left."

The ship creaks as pressure drags against it.

"We'll catch up if we can," Hawke orders. "Just go!"


	10. Watson, Part 2

**Watson, Part 2.**

Anders slams their door shut behind him, and Hawke at least appreciates the drama of having one of the only analog doors he's seen since basic back on Earth, much more effective than pissily tapping in a close command.

"I can't believe he's acting this way," Anders says, not a petulant pout, but real fire and _anger_. "I can't believe he's got so much _support!_" He rips the tie out of his hair and flings it across the room. "Niall's always been soft," he growls.

Hawke collapses onto the bed they shared, sneezing when dust kicks up from months of disuse. He rolls his shoulders, muscles still sore from the blast he took on Caleston, and lets himself fall back onto the musty pillow.

"Of _course_ I support reformation - hmph, _revolution!_" Anders continues, lost in his own fugue as he rips off his armor piece by detached piece. "That was the point of all of this, to make a world for everyone, and not just the strays we round up. That was the _point_- " he says again, and when he looks at Hawke, the desperation sucks the air out of him. "...right?"

Hawke tries his best to smile, but it probably doesn't come out right. "Something like that."

Anders deflates, sinking down into the desk chair.

"The draw-down on Alliance recruits is what concerns _me_," Hawke says after a moment. "That's economics 101, population's got to increase. Niall's scared, but Orson's not stupid, he knows better than that." He frowns. "They can't just live in a bubble - that'll depress the whole settlement.

"Why didn't you say that before?"

"Oh yes, being a dissenting _normie_ in a room full of angry biotics is _definitely _on my 'good idea' list."

Anders rolls his eyes, not in the mood, and Hawke sighs. "Fine," he relents, "I'll bring it up tonight." And then he grins because he just can't well _help it_. "As long as you promise to protect me."

Anders looks over at him, finally, where Hawke's laid back on dirty sheets, and when he speaks his voice is soft but with a hint of that old humor. "You know that's disgusting," he repeats. "Were you raised by wolves?"

Hawke's laugh is half a gasp, because _Maker_ that feels like so long ago, a different lifetime, or maybe the start of a new one.

He shifts his legs invitingly, but the effect's probably dampened by the clacking armor so he throws his arms out as well, just to be _perfectly _clear. "Come ravish me."

"That's not going to be very comfortable for me," Anders says, skeptically eyeing the striping and hard ceramic.

"But I'll be _plenty_ comfortable," Hawke says. "There's lots of padding in these things. You should have kept yours on, love, then we could bump ugly _suits _instead of just- "

Anders finally cracks a smile. "Stop, _please_" he laughs, and when he crosses to the bed Hawke pulls off the chestplate and gauntlets and dumps them on the floor, then takes Anders into his arms. He can feel the heat radiating off his skin beneath the thin underarmor, beneath his hands.

The buzz of insects and trickle of water and occasional _weird animal_ noise drift through the window, where everything feels _alive_ instead of the hum of a ship or dead of space, and Hawke's honestly not sure which he prefers. Whichever isn't trying to kill him at the moment, he supposes.

Anders slips his arm over Hawke's ribs, massaging idly at a spot on his back that's been sore as long as he can remember.

"I was right to worry," Anders says, soft enough only for them, fingers still dancing over Hawke's back. "It's never going to change, is it?" Hawke wants to shut his eyes and just kiss the top of Anders' head, but he fights through it. "Nothing has changed, and we're all too cowardly to face our injustice." Anders' fingers still, and his brood is deepening. "I'm sorry, love," he says, "for everything I've brought into your life."

Hawke smirks, enough that Anders can't see the grinding teeth behind it, teeth practically wearing down to little nubs, and he says the most honest thing he can think of:

"Don't worry about it; the tortured look is sexy."

Anders wears a look on his face that Hawke hopes more than anything he'll get the chance to understand one day, and he's silent for a long moment before he rolls over and straddles Hawke and kisses him _hard_, tongue in his mouth, breath on his face, hands in his hair.

"_Anders_," Hawke groans between kisses, "I didn't know you had it in you today."

"You _did _tell me to ravish you," Anders says, not going for the obvious set-up, because it was just too easy.

Hawke nips at Anders' lip. "Get to it, then."

Anders does, dragging his tongue along the roof of Hawke's mouth, stretching deeper, and Hawke moans and clutches the meat of Anders' ass where he's spread out on top of him, then rolls their hips together.

"How quick do you think you can get out of that underarmor?" Hawke says when he can feel them both getting hard. "I think the record's seven seconds."

Anders' lips are kiss-bruised and wet, wild hair falling over his face, and he opens that fantastic mouth to speak -

- and someone knocks on the bloody door.

Anders swears and quickly disentangles himself, wiping his mouth and trying to smooth away the beard-burn, and Hawke is just glad for once that he's not a young man anymore, and also that he's wearing thick trousers.

Hawke clears his throat. "Who is it?"

The door opens timidly, with a shock of fair hair and an even fairer face behind it.

Hawke blinks as the recognition hits. "Feyne?"

Feyne's either nervous enough that he doesn't catch the rumpled bed and rumpled Anders, or good enough that he doesn't call it. "I'm sorry I didn't buzz or anything," he says, fidgeting.

"It's fine," Anders says, and he's already slipping into the _doctor_ look. "We didn't get to see you when we landed. How've you been settling in?"

"We're alright," Feyne shrugs. Hawke can't help but think he's too young for all of this. "I never got to thank you. Both of you," he says, nodding at Hawke. "For what you did for me and my mother."

Hawke leans back. "It wouldn't be a very good rescue mission if we'd left you there, would it?"

Feyne laughs a little, then tugs errantly at his braid. "That's why they got tense, you know," he says. "Because when we got here, everyone thought they'd left you behind."

"No," Anders says darkly, "we were just relaxing on the beach."

Hawke elbows him, because Anders had been making fine progress on that funk, and damned if Hawke would give up the good fight. "Not _every day_. Some days we took down slave rings."

"We didn't get back soon enough."

He's probably fighting a losing battle.

Feyne shakes his head. "I don't know if it would have mattered. Mum tells me it was a power vacuum, and they're all scrabbling like varren to meat scraps."

Anders scoffs. "I expected that out of Bancroft, even Orson, but not Niall."

"Niall's just keeping peace - he's scared. It's Orson pulling the strings," Hawke says.

"I don't care what it is," Anders says. "We won't compromise."

As the silence falls from the weight of Anders' words, Hawke hears something in the distance - _sirens_. Sirens from the main EU colony. Anders and Feyne notice it, too, Feyne opening the door to hear them better.

Anders activates his omni-tool, and while he scans, Hawke hears someone outside shout.

"Missiles," Anders says, almost too quiet to hear, and he looks up at Hawke with disbelief and fear in his eyes. "Missiles," he says again, louder, "from the base on Franklin. They're headed here."

"_What?_" Feyne gasps, at the same time Hawke asks, "_How long?_"

Anders takes a breath, and then he takes Hawke's hand.

"An hour."


	11. Earth

**Earth.**

Bloody batarians.

That was who'd done it, Hawke had found out later, while they were trying to beat the evacuation efforts after the industrial district went up in smoke. That was who'd sabotaged the moon base, the bastards.

Hawke fidgets in his dress blues, stiff things he hasn't worn in literally years and was really putting his money on never having to wear again, but it was bound to happen sooner or later, getting caught. At least Aveline hadn't had to make good on her keelhauling promise - it was Captain Stannard herself who slapped on the cuffs.

Cuffs he did his damned best to make necessary while Anders and the other deserters got off site.

He checks his omni-tool again-still nothing but the settling pit in his stomach, comm buoys down since they'd landed in Sol. Two days he's been here, and he's not sure what's eating him more, Anders, thoughts of his future - _their _future, everyone's future, or the dread behind it, an instinct rising in the back of his throat every time he lets his mind wander. His instincts are usually right.

Three minutes. Hawke bangs his head against the wall. "You think they'd want me out of here enough hurry it up," he says to the empty cell around him. "Next time I get put on trial, I might just have to skip the party." He shuts his eyes, bangs his head against the wall again, and breathes.

Two minutes. "At worst," he'd told Anders, when they got the evacuation order and cobbled together some patchwork contingency plans, "they kick me out and slap me with a fine I'll do my best to never pay."

Anders didn't laugh at him, but he wasn't laughing at much these days. "I'm still coming for you," he'd said. Hawke hadn't argued it.

At least there was some kind of fun in being back on this rock, twiddling his thumbs for court-martial, at the same time as _the_ Shepard. Also ironic, since he's heard it was her who saved their asses.

Hawke taps his foot impatiently, catches himself, taps again anyway because _why not_, and because time must be _crawling_. But when he glances back at his omni-tool - they were due to pick him up three minutes ago. He powers it off and back on - ANN is still down, but the clock is right. Stannard had seemed pretty hellbent on taking him down, and he could only joke so much at the walls before his own nerves caught up to him. He just wants to get this over with and get out of here, and every tick of seconds is like a pounding in his gut.

Suddenly, everything shakes.

Hawke rises, slowly, hand on the wall for balance, and the shaking stops for just a second before it starts again, lower and steadier. Not an earthquake.

"First Lieutenant Hawke to First Lieutenant Vallen," he radios. She's on the base for his hearing, she should be in range, but all he's getting is static. "Hawke to Vallen, sorry for comm conduct, but I'm still in this cell, thanks for that-what's going on out there?"

Still static, like it's overloaded.

Hawke takes another breath, and then another. He's stuck in a locked cell, comm is completely out, and _something_ is bloody happening. "Hey!" he yells, pounding on the door. "Let me out!" He's _pretty_ sure the things aren't soundproof. "I'm an Alliance marine!" _At least until the end of the day_. "I can help, let me out!"

Banging on the door isn't doing anything, so he steps back, bounces on his toes, cracks his neck and stretches. The shaking is getting stronger. There's nothing in the cell he can really use as a weapon, unless whatever's going on reacts badly to bolted-down benches, and Hawke's halfway to contemplating pulling it out of the wall when the red hololock on the door fizzles before it smashes open.

_Anders_.

Anders, looking shaken and pale, glowing from where he's just blown the lock, with blood trickling down a cut on his brow.

"You're here," Anders gasps, short on breath.

"What- "

"We have to leave," Anders says, throwing Hawke an SMG before grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the cell. "I don't know what it is, but we _have to leave_."

He sees it through the window, just for a split second, about half a kilometer away-big, brown, surrounded by fire. Then they both run.

The holding cells are quiet as they dash through them, but the main auxiliary base is screaming, klaxons blaring for lockdown. A few people are left, but it's eerily empty for all the noise.

Anders runs straight for the main door as Hawke grabs a few spare thermal clips. "It's locked!" he yells, mashing the open button.

"There's a back exit," Hawke says, jamming a clip into his gun and the rest in his pockets. "It's got a lot of stairs, though."

"We won't have time to get down before they get here." Anders looks back down the hall the way they'd come. "They're moving fast, and there's lots of them."

"_Shit_," Hawke swears, then he looks at the observatory window, four stories off the ground overlooking the parking lot, and grins. "Quickest way through _is_ a straight line," he says, and despite the monstrous fear both of them are using at _least_ half their energy to fight back, the other half for actually fighting monsters, Anders can't stop a little laugh.

Anders lights up, pulsing a powerful blue Hawke will be sorely sorry if he never sees again. "Hold on," he says, and then he smashes a glowing fist through the window.

They grasp hands, and behind them the ground trembles. They leap.

* * *

><p><em>what happens next man idfk guess we better play me3 to find out!<em>


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